Darkness on the Edge of Town
by Your Iron Lung
Summary: It's only human to have thoughts of self-loathing and doubt, but Doc Worth doesn't mind; as soon as they run their course he'll forget this little moment ever happened and he'll be that snide sonuvabitch that everyone has slowly come to love again.


There comes a time in every mans life when it seems that the world has been set at your feet on a lovely silver platter with ones name ornately decorated upon it. It encourages one to believe that your lifelong dreams and ambitions are obtainable, that everything you ever promised yourself you'd do will get done; that, ultimately, you're capable of anything. That you're strong and in control of your life and nothing can beat you down. That feeling that you'll last forever; that you're infinite.

Doc Worth was no stranger to having felt that way once, and, hell, he'd probably tell you he _still _felt that way. _("I'm invincible!" he'd say arrogantly, to which one of his peers, {usually Conrad}, would casually reply: "You're a loony."). _Of course, the meaning behind all of his arrogance would be different now, because even though he still felt prideful and sure of himself, things had changed since he had last truly felt that way.

For even though he had felt it in all its glory once before as a young misguided medical student, he'd been robbed of it all too soon. As quickly as it came, it was torn from him and ripped to pieces before his very eyes. Everything he had ever strived for and all the effort he had put forth towards obtaining that title of doctor had all been taken from him so outrageously easy that it made his stomach churn. It was like taking candy from a baby, with all the psychological aspects included.

Believe it or not, Worth had been a normal guy once. Had his own passions and dreams to accomplish in life, too. Was gonna go to med school, gonna become a great doctor and by God, he was going to _help _people. But he didn't care about any of that anymore.

He never gave any of it a second thought, usually. Tonight proved to be the exception, but it wasn't his fault he had succumbed to such un-Worth-y thoughts. It had been relatively slow for the uncanny doc; no clumsy Hanna to bug him, or a hungry Conrad to feed. And, then, well, as corny as this seems, a song had come over his shitty little radio that dragged his mind down into the depths of a pretty hard nostalgia attack. So it only made sense that those long ago emotions that had filled him with reckless abandon would choose now to attack.

A slave to his nostalgia, he sat back in some piece of shit wheely chair he'd salvaged from the dump a week ago, watching the smoke from his dying cigarette as it flowed upwards lazily to a cruddy blinking fluorescent light panel in his cruddy little office. Cast back over the chair carelessly, he let his mind ramble to itself as his shitty little stereo played the cassette (Worth never really got into CD's; too damn expensive) he'd managed to worm inside. The sound was shit, but the emotion was clear; something he felt that no one but the man he was listening to could ever portray.

Worth had listened to this record often and fondly back when he was pushing himself through college. Back when he was a nice young gentleman of society who dated pretty girls and had respectable jobs with admirable titles. The feelings the music managed to conjure up both seemed to apply to him back then and to himself in the present, and probably always would. The record applied to him in so many ways, it was as if the damned thing had been written about him.

The music was turned up as loud as his piece of crap stereo could handle; the musicians wails and moans about working strife and living grief hit him hard and affected him in ways no other musician had ever been able. The music, being so loud, made the knock upon his office door go unheard. He didn't hear the squeal of the doors joints screaming in protest as it was slowly nudged open; he was just so lost in thought. He did, however, hear the slight cough to alert of him of a foreign presence, and he blinked as he turned towards the open door to find a not-so-sparkly vampire. Conrad opened his mouth as though to speak, but when Worth turned away without so much as uttering a demeaning jibe, he thought better of it. It seemed as though he had intruded upon some personal moment and felt a little guilty for interrupting, but Worth didn't care.

The music continued to play as Doc let out a sigh and slowly got to his feet, clapping his hands against his thighs before turning toward the fridge that held his blood supply.

"What're you having?" his tone lacked the usual joking nature it held, and it was obvious Worth wasn't feeling Worth-y when he wouldn't even look at his vampire friend. He wasn't in the mood to bicker as he usually did, and the fledgling vampire seemed to sense that.

"Uh, I'm cool with whatever."

He barely had time to react before a pouch of blood came sailing his way, smacking him rudely in the face. Conrad made as though to speak, glaring back at Worth, but the man stood solemnly with his back facing him, that ever-present stream of smoke swirling above his head. Any remark the vampire was going to say died on his tongue and he suddenly felt awkward. He read the label of the blood (O; his favorite) and then looked back at Worth before turning to leave.

Conrad wondered briefly what was up with Doc, but not long after he had gone than his hunger dictated control of his thoughts and soon the whole incident slipped his mind entirely.

That was fine for Worth, though. He'd prefer it if people didn't see him like this; these moments, these thoughts, these _feelings _were his and his alone, and weren't meant to be shared with anyone but his heart and soul. Plus, he'd be damned if he was gonna open up and talk about them to some douche like a goddamn fairy princess on her monthly.

He scoffed at the thought. No, he was going to let these foreign emotions run their natural course through his body and then be done with them forever. As long as he didn't try bottling them up or ignoring them or some shit he was fine. Everyone had to feel dirty and rotten about themselves at some point in time, it was just human; something that couldn't be avoided. It was simply his turn to deal with those thoughts of self-loathing, and that was fine. It was cool. As soon as they were gone he'd be back to his usual snide self that everyone adored, and he'd never think about this moment again.

He sat back into his chair and let the music steal him away to relive moments and memories of pain that would never leave, so he'd never _ever _forget what transformed him from that happy young college twat to this somewhat biter two-bit hack.

Doc Worth grinned, then, laughing at himself mentally as he felt his funk starting to lift. He was quite proud of the man he'd become, damned if he let anyone else's opinion on the matter drag him down. Yes, he liked who he was, despite what his mum'd say if she saw him now. Two-bit hack indeed.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry Worth is all not Worth-y. This came to me early in the morning and wouldn't leave me alone till I wrote it out. In case you're wondering what he was listening to, it was Bruce Springsteen's Darkness on the Edge of Town album. I think the song 'Something in the Night' is right up Doc Worth's alley. Not the creepy one he works in, mind you. ANYWAY, I have this posted on my deviantart 'cause I didn't even know FF had a HiNaBN section. Now that I know it does, I'll be writing up more maybe~


End file.
